Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
How had she gotten us out by herself? I’m sure Yan wasn’t waiting outside her parents’ house with a plane.
“Sara…” I push up to a sitting position, suppressing a wince as my side protests with pain. “My love, come here.”
She rushes over immediately. “What are you doing? Lie down. It’s too soon to be moving.”
“I’m fine,” I say, but I let her push me back flat on the bed. I like her fussing over me, her pretty face animated with worry.
It’s better than suppressed grief.
“Tell me what happened after I passed out,” I say after she checks my bandages to make sure I’ve done no damage. “How long have we been here? How did we manage to escape?”
She takes a deep breath. “It’s kind of a long story. But essentially, I got us to the cabin you told me about, and then I emailed Yan from your phone. He got Kent involved, and they came for us with a plane—the twins and Kent as the pilot.” She takes another breath. “That was two days ago.”
Two days ago? I must’ve been on death’s doorstep to be out that long.
Pushing away the implications of Kent’s involvement, I concentrate on getting all the facts. “Okay, now tell me the long story,” I say, and then I listen, stunned, as my civilian wife details her undercover venture into the hospital and the clever way she procured us a car.
“So yeah,” she concludes, “after I figured out what you were saying in Russian and unlocked your phone, I emailed Yan, and the twins came a few hours later. Yan said the two of them were in Mexico when it all happened, working with Kent on some deal, so it was just a matter of grabbing Kent’s plane and heading over. Oh, and bribing Kent’s air traffic control guy with one and a half million dollars. Yan said you owe him that money.”
I owe Yan a lot more than money for this, and he knows it. Kent, too.
Manipulative bastards. I’ll have to do some serious favors for them one day.
Noticing my phone on the bedside table, I pick it up and scroll through my emails to see if the hackers came through with any information on the bombing. I need to figure out how this clusterfuck came about.
Unfortunately, there’s still nothing, so I put the phone aside and ask Sara, “Where are the twins and Kent? Are they still around?”
“The twins went to Geneva for some business meeting yesterday, and Kent flew home,” Sara says. “Anton is flying here from Hong Kong tomorrow, though, so I’m sure you’ll see him and the twins then.”
That’s good; I’ll need their help to untangle this mess once I figure out what brought it about. But first, there’s something important that I need to know.
“Ptichka…” I lay my hand on her slender knee. “Why did you do this, my love? You could’ve waited for the authorities to arrive and let me take the blame for that agent. No one would’ve been the wiser, and you could’ve gone on with your life, kept your job and—”
“And what?” She jumps up, glaring at me. “Watch you get arrested as you’re bleeding to death? Leave you at the mercy of people who are not only convinced that you’re a terrorist but who also blame you for the deaths of their colleagues? How could you possibly think I would do that?” Her hands fist at her sides, her entire body rigid with indignation. “You are my husband, the man I love—”
“Also the man who tortured and kidnapped you,” I remind her wryly even as tender warmth fills my chest. I hadn’t doubted Sara’s love, not really, but some part of me must’ve still thought that she’d embrace the opportunity to free herself—that if it came down to a choice between me and her regular life, she’d want the latter.
Her eyebrows snap together. “Really? We’re going there now?”
“No, my love.” Suppressing a delighted grin, I pat the bed next to me. I shouldn’t find her outrage so adorable, but I can’t help it. “Come here.”
She doesn’t move, just glares at me with arms crossed.
“Okay, then, I’ll get up and come to you.” I move as if to sit up again, and with a frustrated huff, she plops down on the bed next to me.
“Lie still,” she snaps, pushing me down. “You’re going to tear those stiches. Again.” Despite her sharp tone, her hands are gentle as she leans over me to inspect my bandages, and as I breathe in her sweet, warm scent, my body stirs, reacting to her nearness the same way as always.
“Ptichka.” There’s a husky note to my voice as I clasp her slim wrist. “My love, look at me.”
Her hazel eyes meet mine, and I see her pupils dilate as I cup her skull from the back and pull her face down toward me.